


Identification, Please

by chucks_prophet



Series: Free Flyin' [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Airports, Anxious Dean, Aviophobia, Aviophobic Dean, But Also the Best Little Brother, Dean Can't Speak, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Sam Is So Done, To Be Continued, Waiting Rooms, Waiting at the Airport, because i love them, side Sam/Eileen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10826037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: With a kick in his step, Dean takes off down the aisle. It’s just a leisurely stroll, like he really is looking for an unoccupied seat. He makes sure to give Jackass on the other side of them a dirty look before he turns his head back to the attractive man in… Is that a three-piece suit? In the dead of summer?  Okay, scratch that: dedicated attractive man. He doesn’t notice Dean, which is kind of a bummer, but it gives him the perfect opportunity to just casually scoop his tag as he passes.Dean’s smile can fit a ballpark by the time he returns to his brother, holding the item between his fingers.“I’m sure it’s not too late to get a DNA test, right?” Sam comments before noticing the way Dean’s scrunching his face looking at the tag. “What? What’s his name?” Dean hands the tag to Sam, who has the same reaction. “Cas-teel? Cast-ee-yell? Sounds religious.”





	Identification, Please

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the prompt from otpprompts.tumblr.com: Person A sees Person B in the waiting room of an airport and tries to get in touch with them without actually talking, eventually managing to slip a paper with their number in the book Person B was reading. How all of this happens is up to you.  
> Bonus if Person C is the one helping Person A.

 

 

The sun is an artist, too.

She uses the city as her canvas, spilling her brightly-colored ink over bus stops and billboards, car tops and cityscapes—the airplanes flying in from the east that he watches from the window, causing some to drip in his eye, staining him with temporary splashes of color behind his retina.

Dean's not used to it, all the so-called "sights". Dean's idea of a sight is wetlands, rec centers, parks—things native to Lawrencians (those from Lawrence, Kansas. Dean likes to make up new words, which drives Sam, academic snob he is, absolutely mad). But nonetheless, Dean has to make certain sacrifices for his best friend, Benny, coming from Maine. Even though he's a Louisianan at the same heart that makes soul food, Benny moved east for a job opportunity he couldn't refuse. He loves seafood, and where better than Maine, along that beautiful coastline, to have the opportunity to serve hundreds of people on a cruise?

"Dean, will you quit fidgeting?" his ever-empathetic brother, Sam, complains. "Everything's gonna be fine. Besides, Benny's more at risk on a cruise ship than a plane."

Oh yeah, he also **hates** airplanes.  Even just watching them fly in causes his chest to swell with panic.

What? It's a common fear. Aviophobia. He Googled it just a moment ago to prove his point. Apparently Ben Affleck is aviophobic too, after an incident involving—

Yeah, no, that's enough internet for today.

“You’re su—”

Dean’s thrown into a coughing fit and Sam just smiles as he returns to his book. “The Stones are the best thing to ever happen to me.” Dean starts to raise his hand to his chin, but Sam, without looking up again, holds up his hand, “And _don’t_ try to curse me out in ASL. We learned it for Eileen, not for your personal gain.”

Dean sighs. On top of it all, he contracted laryngitis the night before at a concert.  He’s thinking it was that chick at the souvenir stand with the short skirt, or that guy in Row 9 who blew snot from his nose like a fire hose, or, okay, maybe he screamed the chorus of “Sympathy for the Devil”, but the worst part—aside from not being able to sass Sam—is that he can’t drink alcohol for the next couple weeks. That’s going to be hard this week, because okay, they can manage the Dean not speaking issue, but not drinking? That’s like telling dogs not to chase after the bone that’s thrown at them.

But, as much as he hates to say it, Sam’s right. Looking out the window is only going to give him more anxiety. Benny still has a half hour until his flight touches down, so Dean forcibly tears his gaze from the window and looks around him.

Kansas City is an interesting place to people-watch, especially at an airport. Most people have either been superglued to their seats waiting so long that they look like zombies on a brain deficiency; have tried every coffee at the airport Starbucks to the point where they have to pace in front of their seat just to let off fumes; have isolated themselves to their own corner of the waiting room with their laptop and headphones make themselves at home, or, if you’re the jackass on the northeast end, you’re starting to hoard three seats for a leg rest while the pregnant woman next to you _and_ her two kids idle off to the side.

Every seat is blocked or taken by one of these types of people—all but one. Dean can stand, that’s not a problem. He’s been on his feet since seven o’ clock last night. And one open seat is to the left of a guy that rivals even the sun’s intensity.

The first thing Dean’s drawn to are his hands, which cradle a book: _Blink_ by Malcolm Somewhat-or-other. His evenly tanned and perfectly slim fingers cover that. There’s no shine on his ring finger, which is surprising, because he has a jawline that can cut through the bullshit in Dean’s life and decorated with stubble that meets his messy brown hair. His eyes are even more impressive: a dark, rich blue that scans the pages before him.

“What? _What?”_ Sam gripes, and Dean doesn’t even realize he’s pushing him. Sam follows Dean’s fixed gaze on the man a few seats down. Dean’s met with an amused look. “Seriously?”

Dean narrows his eyes.

Sam looks over at the man again. “He’s reading a book about individualistic and unconscious judgment.”

Dean’s eyes only keep shrinking under the intensity of his brows.

“Otherwise known as first impressions,” Sam simplifies, “and you’re over here gawking at him. Don’t you think that’s a little _too_ perfect?”

Dean releases his tight hold on his brows to lift his right one cockily.

Sam raises his hands. “Hey, I’m not denying that I haven’t done it too. But I have Eileen now.  I don’t have any reason to look for perfection in someone else.”

Dean rolls his eyes. That’s from a rom-com he’s watched on Netflix, _Before We Go._

Not that he watches those regularly, or anything.

But he will tease _Sam_ to the moon for watching them when he gets his voice back.

“Okay, look, just… get his name first.”

Dean throws out his arms with an annoyed look.

“I don’t know, you’re creative,” Sam replies, “swipe his identification tag on his luggage or something.”

Dean’s face eases into a smile.

“Oh my God. Dean, no—”

With a kick in his step, Dean takes off down the aisle. It’s just a leisurely stroll, like he really is looking for an unoccupied seat. He makes sure to give Jackass on the other side of them a dirty look before he turns his head back to the attractive man in… Is that a three-piece suit? In the dead of summer?  Okay, scratch that: _dedicated_ attractive man. He doesn’t notice Dean, which is kind of a bummer, but it gives him the perfect opportunity to just casually scoop his tag as he passes.

Dean’s smile can fit a ballpark by the time he returns to his brother, holding the item between his fingers.

“I’m sure it’s not too late to get a DNA test, right?” Sam comments before noticing the way Dean’s scrunching his face looking at the tag. “What? What’s his name?” Dean hands the tag to Sam, who has the same reaction. “Cas- _teel?_ Cast-ee-yell? Sounds religious.”

Dean’s chest deflates. He’s _so_ not religious. Last time he went to church was for the free crackers. But the priest got mad at him for some reason, so he hasn’t been back since.

“Okay, well maybe his _parents_ are religious,” Sam offers. “And even if he is religious, that doesn’t have to have a negative connotation attached to it. I mean would you want to be judged on the basis of you being a grungy-looking, half-dead mechanic? That wouldn’t be fair. Because he hasn’t seen you as a grungy-looking, half-dead mechanic _on the job.”_

Dean scoffs, but doesn’t budge from his rigid standing position.

“Just—okay. I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

Dean’s eyes go wide. This _cannot_ be good. Last time Sam said that, he blew the gasket on Dean’s Impala.

Sam sets his own book aside to take out a pen and scribble something on Castiel’s tag. Then, all six-foot four of him gets up and saunters down the aisle, over to Castiel, and Dean’s just left to gawk, this time in horror, as Sam hands his tag over.

“Hey, Castiel, is it?”

Castiel looks up with a confused expression, but nods. “Yes,” he says, and holy shit that _voice, “_ that’s me.”

“Hi. Sorry to bother you,” Sam leads in with, “but I think this may have fallen off your luggage.”

Castiel takes the tag and smiles shyly and okay, Dean’s wrong, _that_ has the power to rival the sun. “Thank you,” he says, sticking it into his book as a place marker, “I would lose my head if it wasn’t screwed on. At least that’s what my brother says.”

“Mine’s already there,” Sam says under his breath.

Castiel tilts his head to the side in the most adorable way. “What?”

Dean shakes his head to the sky.

“Nothing,” Sam assures just as the intercom announces the next flight going out to Illinois—where Castiel is going, going off the second address listed on the tag. “Anyway, sorry to interrupt you. Have a safe flight.”

“Tell your friend I say thank you,” Castiel says, glancing over at Dean. Dean’s breath catches. “I saw him swipe it out of the corner of my eye as he passed. But he’s cute, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

Sam laughs, “Will do.”

Dean faces Sam with a hard glare as he walks back over, but it’s probably nearly impossible to take him seriously when he’s blushing profusely, because a guy named Castiel just called him _cute_. Sam just smirks.

“Would I still be considered the worst if I wrote your number on the contact info section of the tag?”

Dean opens his mouth, and then closes it again just as quick. Even if he _could_ speak, he’d be speechless.

“I’m the best, I know,” Sam concedes oh-so humbly as he places his hand over his heart, “but right now, you have a visitor.”

Dean turns around and is met by a big, burly man with an equally burly beard.

“Are ya gonna stand there like a stiff, Chief, or are you gonna hug me?”

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you wondering what curse word Dean was starting to sign to Sam, it was "bitch". And Sam, if they were anywhere else, probably would have signed back, "Jerk".
> 
> Also, Before We Go is my favorite rom-com of all time.
> 
> And the book mentioned is my personal favorite read, Blink by Malcolm Gladwell, and is exactly how Sam described it. Very eye-opening - without being punny.


End file.
